Friday the 13th
by Sinangeled
Summary: Alex hated Fridays, but this one was shaping up to be even worse than usual. Mad gunmen not being the typical kind of thing you see at Brookland.


_**This is a bit of an experiment, as I have never written Alex Rider before. I have certainly read a great deal of Fanfiction about him, and some of it very very good, but this is my first foray into the territory of the world's deadliest teen spy. At some point in the future, I hope to write a very long story that will include him as one of the main characters, but before I undertake something that big in addition to all my other uncompleted stuff, I'd just like to write a reasonably good short story first. Considering that it took like, 6 months to write this due to my epic procrastinating skills, I really hope it turned out well. **_

_**Feedback is very very deeply appreciated. **__**Thanks! –Sinangeled**_

**_P.S. Also? I own nothing._**

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><p>Alex hated Fridays. Unusual, yes, but then, Alex was a very unusual boy. And the world knew it.<p>

There no longer remained anyone who was dismissive of him. If you knew of him, you were naturally interested. Unusual was a good word for the mysterious boy who appeared much less frequently then he should have at Brooklands.

Alex hated Fridays not simply because he was in the sort of mood where he hated everything, but because on Friday's they ran two kilometers. He had been a sports legend at his school, the youngest boy to make the highest football team, before he became a legend of the different kind. The whole world knew how bloody fast he was. But it was quite hard to run as fast as he needed to without the teacher watching yelling at him about his record time and _do you hear me Rider?_ while recuperating from various serious injuries. Sometimes he had an exemption from physical activity that some doctor at St. Dom's had given him and that was almost worst because the chilling isolation he was slowly accepting as normal was more noticeable when he was physically isolated as well.

The worst though, the worst was when he was well, like today. He felt alert and alive and barely felt the ache from the wound in his chest that had given him so much trouble in the two years since he had gotten it. Today he knew that it would be an easy matter to shatter his previous record, perhaps by as much as twenty seconds. And he knew that he would barely have to push himself. He knew that despite all of his various battle scars and collections of old injuries he was without a doubt the most physically fit person in the building.

The problem was, they weren't allowed to know it. Not that they didn't know that there was something different about Alex. He had been working for bloody MI6 for three bloody years for God's sake. If they still thought he was a normal boy then they were even bigger idiots then Alan Blunt, and in Alex's mind, there was no greater. Except perhaps Eagle. And Alex would even have preferred to be among his SAS teammates in the hell that was Brecon-Breacons than among his supposed peers. After all, enough had transpired in his life that despite appearances, when he attended school, he was no longer among peers. He was among innocents.

The coach blew his whistle and Alex set off at a pace that he determined would likely cause him to finish around third or fourth in the group of nearly a hundred students. That was good. He focused on running instead of letting his mind wander as the scanned the nearby area for threats as he usually did. It was funny how years of being shot at changed a person's perspective. Bloody MI6.

The two words had been repeated so often together in his head that whenever the thought about the government branch that had destroyed his life and innocence the always preceded the name with the curse. Once, he had been taking once of those goddamned word association tests that one of the quacks he had been assigned by said group of ruthless bastards who wanted to ensure their prized unpaid operative wasn't going to turn into a raging psychopath. The doctor had said words like yellow and dark and Alex had responded with rain and night. Then the doctor had said bloody and without thinking Alex had simply responded MI6 before he had realized it. The look on the doctors face was priceless as the implications set in. It was really quite amusing how-

His attention snapped back to the present.

He was just rounding the curve of his third lap, had been running for around three minutes. Something was off. Alex didn't question his instincts at that point. He knew that something was wrong and his gut instinct had saved his life a hell of a lot more than any supposed backup he might have had. Careful not to alert anyone, he kept running but began to scan all of his surrounding in an organized search pattern. As he casually glanced around the field they were running in he noticed a swaying movement in one of the bushes and a glint of dull metal that the sinking feeling in his stomach assured him had to be a gun. The odds were certainly far greater for the likelihood of someone getting a metal lunchbox or something but knowing his luck… He just prayed there was only one and that they were poorly trained.

As his mind was rapidly proposing and discarding various plans of action, the possessor of what did indeed turn out to be a gun stepped out of the bushes. Alex instantly knew that the man was no professional. He was rocking slightly where he stood, his face was uncovered, and his eyes had a distinctly crazed look in them that he knew all too well as the sign of a maniac. The man was obviously still dangerous, perhaps more so, but it seemed likely that he alone was not the focus of the attack.

The man raised the gun in the air and fired off a shot. _No better way to get attention_, Alex thought wryly. Predictably, all of his classmates screamed and about half dropped to the ground where the other half remained frozen where they stood. Alex had chosen to remain with the latter as standing still looking terrified gave him a greater number of options.

"Everybody be quiet!" the man screamed. So naturally, no one was. When he fired off another shot, more people dropped to the ground and people were, for the most part, quiet. Alex and perhaps a few dozen others remained standing.

The man brandished what Alex identified as something around a 25-40 caliber….Smith&Weston? Looked like it. He gestured towards the gymnasium

"Everybody get inside!" he screamed hoarsely. "Now!"

"Sir," one of the two instructors implored. "Can we please deal calmly-"

"Shut up!" the man screamed.

Alex was worried, the gunman definitely did not sound like his sanity was the strongest. Mr. Greenly, a beefy man who was the head of Brookland's rugby team was also worrying him. He was an impulsive pushy man who Alex disliked. He was standing rather close to the gunman and Alex could see his body was tense and prepared for action. Alex was worried he was going to try something.

"Everybody get inside, now!" the man yelled. The student hesitated and the gunman turned the weapon on a small girl Alex rather liked named Shelly.

"Do you think I'm joking!" the man yelled, "DO you!" Shelly shook her head pale with terror. She had tears running down her cheeks. The man gave a nasty smile. Alex classified him as a sadist. He needed to hurt people to feel powerful. At the same time, the human part of him he always tried to switch off during these situations burned with anger and empathy.

It was really a tactical nightmare from Alex's point of view. A very large group of potential targets was being herded into a building. There was only one person in that very large disorganized group that had any chance of defeating the obviously jumpy man and that was him. Had he had tactical support, a sniper could have so very easily taken out the gunman. But of course, that kind of ease was simply impossible in Alex's life.

They were trickling into the gym building now. Moving slowly, he could hear the terrified whimpering of his classmates. If they had bothered to look at the young man they would have noticed the unnatural coldness in his eyes.

He slowed down just slightly. Trying to ensure that he didn't do anything to stand out, and slowly shifted so that he was walking into the building closer to the gunman while remaining with the group. Most of the other students were casting him terrified glances so Alex mimicked their expressions and took another look at him.

The man was swaying slightly but Alex didn't think he was high, his eyes were not dilated and his breathing was fine, normal rate and everything. If he had to guess, he would say that the man had a few drinks before hand to 'fortify his courage'. That was both good and bad. It would slow down his reaction time, obviously a positive thing, but it would also impair his judgment. That could both work to his advantage or disadvantage. The man was more likely to make tactical errors, but also more likely to kill someone.

He was obviously seeking attention, of that Alex had no doubt, but he had to have another goal, the one the man was actually conscious of. Did the man want money, media attention, did he have some kind of resentment for Brooklands? Alex wasn't sure yet but he needed to find out soon in case he couldn't take the man out quickly.

The man had his gun outstretched and his hands were steady as he gripped it professionally. That was concerning. Ex-military maybe? His haircut looked a bit like a crew cut that had been allowed to grow out too far. He was an intimidating figure and Alex's classmates were giving him as wide a berth as possible as they entered the building. He had no way to approach the man without suspicion. He had lost an opportunity to strike out easily and quickly. His mind racing, he began to adapt a new plan.

Once inside the gym he backed into a corner and slumped down, making himself seem smaller and less threatening, and also a bit cowardly. Most of the students were huddled at the farthest wall, all trying to get to the back of the pack, all obviously terrified. The last of the student trailed in, identical expressions of terror on their faces, and the man, Alex decided to call him Green Jacket, locked the doors using the keys he must have taken form one of the instructors. Mr. Greenly was still standing too close to the gunman and Alex, noting the obvious tension in the man's body, cursed as the teacher prepared to strike. The teacher hit the gunman with a poorly aimed but powerful left hook, clipping the side of Green Jacket's head, sending him stumbling away a few feet before he regained his balance and shoot Greenly in the gut. The man turned white and collapsed. He wasn't dead yet, but without medical attention he would die in the next twenty minutes or so. Gut shots were a particularly nasty way to die.

"You see!" the man raged. "They're all trying to get me!" Alex noted in disappointment that this did indeed appear to be a maniac.

"The Government, they're, they're, it's a plot and they're- and they'll pay, oh they'll bloody pay!"

Schizophrenia? Possible. In any case, the man was delusional and paranoid. Not a good combination. Especially when that already volatile situation had a gun involved.

People were crying and screaming now. The noise grated. Two more shots rang out in the air. The man had foolishly used up 5 of the bullets in his clip, an advantage Alex would hopefully be able to use. Two bullets wasn't enough to do too much damage anyway. If the man would just change the clip…

Green Jacket really did seem out of it.

"Everyone sit down!" he demanded. People were quick to obey, with the exception of a small number that had fainted. In the corner, Alex could see Mark Mathews having an asthma attack. Apparently, so did one of the teachers.

"Sir! He's having an asthma attack! He needs an inhaler!" Mr. Morris cried. The man turned to face the box who was heaving breaths. His face showed clear indecision. He muttered to himself. Alex took two deft steps closer, still enclosed by the mass of student pushing against the wall. He heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance.

Green Jacket looked very agitated and Alex was worried. There were a thousand different scenarios running through his mind and none of them were good. Best case, the man would just peacefully surrender himself to the police. Somehow though, Alex just didn't see that happening.

"Sir!" the teacher yelled. The gun fired, spitting a bullet into the floor. One left.

"Shut up!" Green Jacket yelled. "Just shut the hell up!" Alex stepped forward, behind him.

"Excuse me," he said quietly. The man whirled around and pointed the gun at him. Or attempted to. Before it reached the right angle to shoot Alex, he grabbed the gun with one hand and the man's wrist with another, forcing the, to point up to the ceiling, where the man accidently fired his last round. Then Alex broke Green Jacket's wrist.

He howled like a rabid dog.

"It's the government! It's the bloody government," he howled. Alex took the gun and landed a right cross, knocking the man out. The sirens got closer.

"We should probably open the doors," he said quietly.

**Epilogue: Saturday**

"It was kind of cool," Tom said quietly. Alex shook his head.

Tom worried about Alex sometimes. Well, actually, a lot. Not that he'd say it because it was kind of gay, but still.

"They were really stupid though, the boy plowed on, "I mean, you disarmed him and you know, possibly saved lives and they're treating you like you're the one who shot Mr. Greenly."

"I wish," Alex said, with a little twist of his lips. Tom snorted.

"Yeah."

Jack was watching them from inside the Rider home, the incident doing nothing to sooth her nerves about Alex. Tom looked at her worried face. She was really not that old, but she looked as worn as his mum sometimes did.

"They said he had post-traumatic stress disorder," Tom said. "And schizophrenia and stuff."

"Mmm," Alex said. Tom wondered what he was thinking.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. There had been many a joke made about the lack of mental filter he possessed.

Alex was silent for a moment. Gone, brooding, in some place Tom couldn't go and didn't want to. He waited a beat. But at least he still returned.

"Alex?"

"I hate Fridays."

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><p><strong><em>Please Review<em>**.


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